


Nursery Rhymes

by hit_the_books



Series: Blood and Gold [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drugs, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This part takes place during and around season nine episode 11 “First Born”.</p><p>You're an alchemist, perhaps one of the most gifted of this age. You've been dating Sam Winchester for over a month now, living with him in the Bunker.</p><p>But when you head out on your first hunt by yourself, how will Sam react when he finds out that you’ve gone without him?</p><p>Don't forget to check out <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3612372">Nestled in Silver</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3631563">The World Doesn't Know the Meaning of the Word Stop</a> before starting on this part.</p><p>Expect liberal use and references to certain mythical items and processes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roses

> Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
> 
> Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before…

Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

 

Mrs Hammersmith had not entered her barn in two weeks. Two long weeks. She’d heard the giggles and the singing. All at unimaginable hours. All when she would normally believe herself truly alone in her home. Eleanor couldn’t quite put her finger on when it all began, but she suspected it started when the police had come crawling over the old farm, hunting for clues for deeds long done, for people probably long since dead.

“Ring-a-round the rosie,

A pocket full of posies,

Ashes! Ashes!

We all fall down.”

The girl was singing again. But to who? Eleanor tucked her shawl tightly around her shoulders and picked up the can of salt in her aging fingers. She’d already pulled her favourite chair into the middle of the room. Beside it was her bag of crochet, some camping lights, an iron fire poker and a cell phone. Stepping beside the chair, she slowly made a circle from the salt pouring out of the can. Satisfied, she stepped within the circle and sat upon her favourite chair.

Picking up the blanket she’d been working on since before the creeping sense of terror had settled down over the old farm, she began to crochet. Eleanor wouldn’t call for help now, the hour was too unsociable. But when the morning light struck her window, she would call.

Her age meant she didn’t feel tired, the night was just another slice of time she stole for herself. Eleanor worked swiftly on the blanket, adding rows upon rows by the light of camping lanterns. But her ears stayed vigilant, her hearing not that bad, so her skin began to crawl as the young girl’s voice sang out a different rhyme:

“Three blind mice. Three blind mice.

See how they run. See how they run.

They all ran after the farmer's wife,

Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,

Did you ever see such a sight in your life,

As three blind mice.”

The salt line stayed solid. Nothing entered the house. But Eleanor, continued to work on her blanket and wondered what the police had been looking for and what they had found. The only case she could think of was one from her childhood, before her father had bought the farm from its previous owners.

A slew of disappearances, including that of the previous owner’s daughter, had driven the farmer and his wife near mad. They sold up and left. The disappearances had stopped not long before they moved. Eleanor had never known anything strange to happen on the farm before now. No bumps in the night. No haunting voices drifting out from the barn.

But now… Eleanor wondered what the police had taken away. They’d been incredibly tight lipped, but she wasn’t a suspect or a person of interest, on account of only being three years old when she’d moved to that farm. Still, she’d never known nights like this at the farm until now...

Eleanor had known nights like this elsewhere. And she hadn’t been working on her crochet then. Suddenly, the floorboards creaked outside her room and in one swift movement she put her hook and yarn down and grabbed the fire poker. Nothing else entered the room, her breath didn’t fog in front of her. Eleanor put the fire poker down and picked up her crochet once more.

After the first week, Eleanor had finally gotten the courage to at least peer through the slats on the side of the barn and see who or what had taken up residence.

The ghost was that of a young girl, seven years older than what Eleanor had been when she’d moved to the farm. All curls and smiles, seemingly unaware of what she was. Eleanor had worked hard to find out who the little girl must have been, even going into town and looking through microfilm of the old town paper at the library. But of course the girl had been her - the farmer’s daughter. Disappeared in 1938, aged ten.

Hunting is, as Eleanor knew, a “young person’s” game. Eleanor was operating on a donated kidney and a dodgy hip. She’d spent most of the second week trying to find someone else to take the job. But so many contacts had died or given up the game that Eleanor had only one number left to call and she wasn’t even sure if he was alive.

To feel this powerless did frustrate Eleanor. She kept dwelling on how things had been for her when she was in her twenties and thirties. Running about the country, hunting ghosts, vampires, werewolves, ghouls and witches, as well as the odd demon. She’d never wanted to be a housewife, only coming home when her father and mother finally died and passed the farm on to her.

It was as good a retirement location as any. Quiet… until now.

Ring-a-round the rosies started again and Eleanor blanched, messing up the double crochet she’d been working on that moment. Unwinding the yarn, and starting the stitch again, Eleanor shivered. She stopped and looked at her breath fogging in the air. Then she looked up.

The ghost of the farmer’s daughter was stood in front of Eleanor. All curls and smiles and ghostly pale skin. The salt circle was unbroken, the girl didn’t move any closer.

“Can you come and play?” The ghost girl asked, her voice sickeningly sweet.

“Sorry, dear, but my hip isn’t what it use to be, I’m afraid. You run along now.” Eleanor replied, keeping her voice as maternally neutral as possible.

The ghost girl vanished. From the barn, a chorus of Mary Had A Little Lamb started up. Eleanor steadied her breathing and began crocheting again.

As night melded into dawn, and the giggling and singing finally ended, Eleanor put down her work and picked up the cell phone. Pulling up the number from the address book, she hit dial.

“Hello?” Eleanor said, when she finally heard someone pick up. “Is this John Winchester?”


	2. Isolated

A mountain of books surrounds you. You’d heard movement elsewhere in the bunker, Sam doing whatever Sam did when you weren’t at his side. Now, taking a moment to stretch and rub your eyes, you think you’ve managed to make progress in your research on a cure for lycanthropy. The open leather bound notebook on the desk beside you is filled with your scrawls - notes in Latin, Greek, Enochian, Hebrew, ancient Sumerian and English. It had been a long night and there were at least twenty more pages where that came from. Ink stains your fingers on your right hand and as you stretch you realise that you’re still dressed in your pyjamas.

Getting up from the desk you pad out of the library and head towards the incident room, hearing talking coming from there and the air smelling almost like cherubs, but not quite. You can’t stop yawning as you walk and finally when you come into the room, you see a man in a trench coat sat at the incident table. Your first reaction isn’t to scream, instead it’s to ponder as the man continues to talk to himself.

“First, the peanut butter,” the man takes a butter knife and scoops out peanut butter from a jar using a butter knife. He then proceeds to spread it over the sliced bread in front of him.

“Uh, hi,” you finally say.

The man stops working on his sandwich and looks up at you, puzzlement in his blue eyes.

“Hi,” the man says awkwardly. “Would you like some, PB&J?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, your stomach beginning to rumble. “I’m, Y/N, by the way.”

“Castiel,” the trench coat wearing man offers, smiling as he continues to work on the sandwich.

Sitting by Castiel, you realise that this is the angel that has been healing Sam from the ravages his body has been through. Sam had refused your own help in the matter - he’d not wanted to forge his own Philosopher's Stone, splitting off a part of his soul in the process. Hearing what he’d gone through a few years ago, you understood his reluctance, though you did not completely agree with it.

Castiel holds out the completed sandwich to you and you look at it with a moment of suspicion before taking it. The first bite feels wonderful, the perfect amounts of peanut butter and jelly at play.

“You are having sex with Sam, yes?” Castiel asks as you swallow the last bite of your sandwich.

Trying not to choke, your cheeks burning red, you reply, “Uh, yes, not that that should be any concern of yours.”

“I think it is a good thing that Sam has found someone to have sex with. The health benefits of an active sex life are many and he needs as much help as he can get to heal from the damage that has been done to him.”

You get up from the table. “Okay, well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time he tries to feign a headache… Thanks for the sandwich. See you later.” Quickly, before Castiel can make your cheeks burn any more, you speed out of the incident room and head towards Sam’s bedroom.

Reaching Dean’s room, before Sam’s, out of habit you push the door ajar and peer in. Nothing has changed inside, there is no sign of Dean having slept in his bed. You frown and continue on to Sam’s room. You know they had had a fight, but you were still fuzzy on the details as to what it had been about.

Despite Sam being very open about his past after he’d helped save you from the demon, recently he’s been very close lipped and secretive. You know something had gone down while you’d been off in Washington State doing some research on the werewolf cure, but no at the bunker one was giving you answers as to what had actually happened.

But it obviously had something to do with Dean and you’d notice how Sam had seemed kinda under the weather for the past few weeks. It was concerning. Still, you figured Sam would tell you what was going on in his own good time.

Reaching Sam’s room, you walk over to your chest of alchemical ingredients and check it’s fine. Satisfied that it is, you pick up your wash things and head for the showers.

*

Towelling your hair in Sam’s bedroom, that’s when you hear it. A cell phone ringing. But it’s not yours and it’s not coming from Sam’s room. Getting up from the bed, already dressed in your favourite khakis, a t-shirt and plaid shirt swiped from Sam’s wardrobe, you stick your head out into the hallway. The ringing is coming from Dean’s bedroom.

You stride down to the door and push it open, the phone on its sixth ring by now. Seventh - it’s coming from a chest of drawers. You pull some draws out and on the eighth ring you find it, an old flip cell. Flipping it open you listen.

“Hello, Is this John Winchester?” You hear an old woman ask.

“I’m sorry, no, this is his son’s phone, I guess, and Dean isn’t here right now,” you reply.

“Oh,” you can audibly hear the woman’s hope leave her over the phone.

“But - but, maybe I can help you. What seems to be the problem?”

“I’ve a haunting, at my farm. The ghost of a little girl,” the woman sounded hopeful again.

You’re back in Sam’s room now, pulling out a pad and paper and beginning to write down details. “U-huh, and where is your farm?”

You listen, carefully, writing down everything Mrs Hammersmith tells you and then say, “Okay, Mrs Hammersmith, I’ll be will be with you in the next nine hours. Um, if you haven’t already, find some salt and make a circle and stay inside of it, and if you have an iron fire poker or similar, keep that with you too.”

“Don’t worry dear, I know the drill,” Mrs Hammersmith says, “Just hurry, please.”

Hanging up, you make a note of Mrs Hammersmith’s number and then you pull your rucksack out of a corner of the room. Throwing in some clothes, checking you’ve got your cell, you reach instinctively to your chest and feel for your necklace and the stone. Finding that you still have both, you put some boots on and pick up your bag and chest. You quickly put the phone back in Dean’s room.

Dropping everything else off in the garage, you go looking for Sam. Following your nose, you eventually find Sam and Castiel in the library, looking through several different tomes. Rather than barge straight in, you watch the pair, wondering what they’re doing. They seem busy.

“Um, Sam,” you call.

Sam looks up from his books, gives you a sweet smile before heading over and drawing you into a hug. He breathes in your clean hair and you can feel his heart beating in his chest. His smell works its way into you, slowly driving you crazy, but there’s a woman who needs your help. You gently pull away from Sam.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, a look of concern in his eyes.

“We’ve got a job, in Missouri. A haunting.”

You could sense the hesitation as soon as Sam heard you say the word “job”.

“Okay. Tell you what, I’m going to finish up this thing I’m working on with Cas, and then we’ll go deal with that haunting, okay?” Said Sam.

This isn’t what you want to hear. ‘It’s just a haunting,’ you think to yourself, ‘I can handle a haunting.’

“Sure,” you lie to Sam before kissing him. Sam gives you another huge smile and then you turn away and make it look like you’re heading back to the bedroom.

Peeking back over your shoulder, you see that Sam has returned into the library. A feeling of guilt seeps into the pit of your stomach as you head back towards the garage. Picking up your things, you head to a bike, but not your bright green Kawasaki. Instead, you pick out something a bit more low key, with tail bags: a Harley Davidson K model. Stowing your rucksack in one tail bag, you tie your chest to the back of the bike.

Finding your helmet, you’re about to leave when you remember that you need a few more things. Sneaking through the bunker, you head to where Sam and Dean keep supplies, picking out a can of salt, some lighter fluid and some matches. You guess the farm will have a shovel - you figure you’ve got the essentials. Checking a road map, you plot your way to the north eastern corner of Missouri and with a route memorised, you head back to the bike.

It shouldn’t take you too long.


	3. Dirt

Stopping for fuel, paying for tolls, you rode all day to reach Mrs Hammersmith’s house. You refused to allow yourself to feel tired, instead naughtily sneaking a little something from the supplies in your chest and swallowing it down before knocking on Hammersmith’s front door.

The farmhouse looks well kept, its paint solid and bright without a weed in sight. It only takes two knocks to bring Mrs Hammersmith to the door.

“Mrs Hammersmith?” You ask as you look at the woman who has opened the door. Mrs Hammersmith leans on a walking stick to her right, is dressed in jeans, boots, and a denim blouse. She looks like she was quite something in her youth and probably still knows how to throw a punch, but her smile is all kinds of welcoming.

“You must be the young lady from the phone… Are either of John’s boys with you?” She peers around you.

“No, just me, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh… How’s John?”

Your stomach does a little sickening churn, Sam had told you what had happened to his father.

“I’m afraid, John is no longer with us.”

“Oh… such a shame.”

“Yes, very… Mrs Hammersmith, this haunting of yours...”

“Yes, yes, and call me Eleanor,” Eleanor peers behind you again and looks at your bike, “now, if you get your things, we can discuss this in the house. I’m sure you could do with a cup of tea.”

You reply with a thankful smile and turn back to your bike.

*

Cup of tea at your right elbow, you search through your chest, in the kitchen, as Eleanor talks to you about the little girl. You already have some salt out on the table and are looking for a jar of iron filings. Eleanor is watching you with wry amusement, her face crinkling as she smiles.

“What’s with this chest and that necklace?” Eleanor innocently asks.

“Um,” you continue shifting through the contents of the chest, “I’m an alchemist.” You hope that would explain enough.

“Y’know, I think I once stopped by a shop run by an alchemist, while after supplies, Oregon way it was. Run by a F/N.”

Your breath catches in your chest. “He was my grandfather.”

“So the chest?”

“Tools of the trade.”

“And the necklace?”

You look down your chest at the silver nestled between your breasts and the glinting orange stone caught in silver filagree. “A project… Now, can we get back to the little ghost girl?”

“Of course. She was the daughter of the people who lived here before my family. She disappeared before they moved. Body was never found.”

“Handy,” you mutter as your hand finally grips the jar of iron filings. “Do you know what the cops took away?”

“Hmmm, it looked like an iron travel chest.”

You line up a series of vials and stoppers and begin tipping salt and iron filings into the vials. “What about the other disappearances before she vanished back in the 1930s?”

“Farm hands, as far as I can tell. A mixed bunch at that.”

“How many?”

“Four, I believe.”

“Here,” you pass over several of the vials. “Does she come by the same time each night?”

“Like clockwork. What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Throw them at the feet of the spirit. Should slow her down if she, y’know...” Your voice trails off.

Picking up your cup of tea, you give it a sip, thinking of the information that Eleanor has given you. Something didn’t seem right.

“The disappearances stopped with the girl, right?” You ask Eleanor.

“From what I can tell, yes. The police suspected that it was one of the farm hands that was responsible, but the one they pegged for it was long gone when they came looking for him.”

“It’s too late for me to go and see what the cops dug up… Can I stay here tonight and see her for myself?”

Eleanor smiles and replies, “Of course. It’ll be like old times.” She looks to a corner of the kitchen and you get the feeling that there’s a shotgun there, loaded with rocksalt.

*

It starts with “Ring-a-round the rosie”. Eleanor and you are already sat inside a large salt circle, keeping yourselves occupied. Eleanor in her chair, you sat on a cushion on the floor. You’re cooking something up from the components in your chest, a mortar and pestle on the floor beside you, along with the shotgun you didn’t imagine.

You try to ignore the ghostly sing-song of the little girl in the barn, but the hairs won’t stop sticking up on your arms. Eleanor keeps looking up from her crochet and asking you what it is that you’re working on, but you refuse to tell her, suspecting that the old hunter won’t appreciate what you’re planning.

You know Sam wouldn’t.

The concoction you’re slowly piecing together contains, among its active ingredients, grave dust and mescaline. If the girl had been living, you’d have skipped the grave dust, but at this point it’s necessary. Once all the main ingredients are decanted into a glass bottle, you add distilled water and then, pricking your middle right finger, a small drop of your own blood. You swill the bottle’s contents around, ready.

“Whatever you’ve got there , Y/N, it looks disgusting,” says Eleanor, peering at you and the bottle through the light of the camping lanterns.

Standing up, you grip the bottle tightly in your right hand.

“Where are you going?” Eleanor asks, alarm entering her voice.

“To the barn, Eleanor.”

“But-”

You turn to Eleanor and breathe deeply, calming yourself for the trip you know you’re about to have. “Listen, Eleanor, I’m… Look, it can’t kill me.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“Just trust me, I’ll be fine. But I need to know something.” You leave the circle, blotting out Eleanor’s protests as you head out of the house and into the gloomy darkness of the night.

The air is cold and the bottle feels heavy in your hand. You walk up to the barn doors, the ghost still singing inside. You bring the bottle to your lips and gulp down its contents, shuddering at the horrendous taste, then you put the bottle down on the dirt and begin to slide the barn doors open.

The singing stops. You see the little ghost girl, all curls and smiles, looking at you from the middle of the barn. Remembering you need to get closer, much closer, you start slowly walking towards the shimmering form.

“Are you here to play?” The little ghost girl asks, her eyes looking directly at you.

“Sure.” You slowly walk over to the ghost. The walls of the barn are beginning to look slimy, as if they’re melting before your very eyes - the mescaline has begun to kick in.

The ghost holds out her hands for you to play pat-a-cake with her. You get your hands ready as you reach her -

And then it begins.


	4. Disappointment

Sam felt better than he had in weeks, but the burning feeling of disappointment that was working its way through him was making the return of his good health something that he couldn’t really savour. He was trying desperately to see things from Castiel’s perspective, but the lack of fresh information on Gadreel was getting to Sam. He wanted the sonofabitch to pay and he wanted to take Metatron down with him, but no, not today - sorry. No, today was the day that Cas had learned to appreciate the majesty of PB&J, and as a sidenote: Sam’s life.

Walking with a twinge of disappointment in his steps, Sam made his way back through the Bunker and to his bedroom, expecting to find Y/N there, catching up on the sleep that he knew she had missed last night. But when he opened his door, he was surprised to find that Y/N wasn’t there. Heading back to the incident room, he found Cas trying to make another peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Cas, have you seen Y/N?” Sam asked.

“I have not seen her since she came to the library about that hunting job.”

“Huh…” Sam wandered off, his feet taking him to the library - nope - to the bathroom - nope - to the kitchen - nope - to the store rooms - nope - to the garage - no-

Sam’s eyes scanned the concrete space, and he realised the Harley was missing. Rushing back through the Bunker and to his room, he found that, as he feared, Y/N’s chest was also gone. Grabbing his cell, he found Y/N’s number and dialed it.

"Hey, this is, Y/N-" Sam hung up on the voicemail. It was like deja vu all over again and a sense of panic was beginning to grow. Sure Y/N couldn’t die, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t get hurt.

Rushing back into the incident room, Sam ignored Cas and the sandwich and instead grabbed his laptop and started booting it up.

“C’mon, c’mon…” Sam muttered, willing the processor to work faster.

Once he had it online, he went to track the phone’s GPS. Several minutes of waiting for pages to load and refresh, he knew where Y/N had gone - a farm in the north east of Missouri. Then he remembered Y/N mentioning something about a haunting and-

“She’s gone hunting by herself,” Sam said, cringing with the knowledge.

“Is so-me-th-ing wr-ong?” Cas asked through a mouthful of PB&J.

“Y/N has gone on a hunt,” Sam replied, audibly stressed, noting down the address of where he needed to go.

Cas swallowed his food. “Why are you… upset by this?”

“Because...” Sam flashed back to Y/N coming out from the closet Dean, Crowley and him had saved her from just over a month ago, “Because, she isn’t a hunter, Cas. She could get hurt.”

“Do you wish for me to join you?” Cas asked sincerely.

Sam looked up at Cas and breathed deeply for a moment. “No, I can handle this by myself. You should be tracking Gadreel… once you’re done with your sandwich.”

Cas nodded in reply and Sam jogged off to grab his things.

*

The drive took over nine hours. By the time Sam was pulling up to the farm, dawn was breaking. But at least he knew he was in the right place, spotting the Harley that had been stored in the garage at the Bunker. The place looked quiet and peaceful, he thought, stepping out of the car, plaid shirt flapping in the fresh morning breeze.

Hoping that the hour wasn’t too unreasonable, Sam walked up to the front door of the farmhouse, pulled the screen open and knocked on the door. There was silence for about a minute until he heard footsteps from inside and the door finally opened to reveal an old woman, dressed in jeans and and a denim shirt. She looked worried and pale as she leaned on her walking stick.

“Hi, sorry for the early hour, I don’t suppose I could speak with Y/N? That is her bike there, right?” Sam gave the old woman his winning smile.

“Wait a minute,” the old woman said, her eyes narrowing with recognition, “you’re one of John Winchester’s boys, aren’t you?”

“Um, yeah, I’m Sam.”

“Well, thank god for that! Quick, I haven’t been able to check on Y/N - she went into the barn a few hours ago and hasn’t come back!” The woman pointed over to the only barn near the house.

Sam started down the porch and quickly went to the trunk of his car, pulling out a shotgun already loaded with rocksalt. Walking over to the barn, the old woman joined up with him, hobbling to keep up.

“I’m Eleanor Hammersmith, by the way,” Eleanor grunted as she walked hard to keep up with Sam’s strides. “One of your dad’s first hunts was my last.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever really met a retired hunter before.”

“I know, we’re a rare thing.”

Sam reached the barn doors and looked at Eleanor. Hoisting the shotgun, Sam gently pulled the doors open and looked inside.

Laid out on bits of old straw was the prone form of Y/N. Sam’s stomach began to do somersaults, as he rushed over to her side, still fearing the worst, glancing at the glass bottle nearby. Putting a finger to Y/N’s neck, Sam felt a pulse and the sense of panic he felt began to subside. He tried to gently shake her awake, but-

“She’s not waking up,” Sam called over to Eleanor who limped over to where they were in the barn.

“Pick her up and let’s get back to the house,” ordered Eleanor. Sam obeyed and scooped Y/N into his strong arms and followed Eleanor.

*

Inside Eleanor’s house, Sam couldn’t get over how homely it was, considering that Eleanor use to be a hunter. He was sat beside Y/N, who was laid out on a couch, waiting on Eleanor to come back with some smelling salts that Eleanor had guaranteed could wake a Wendigo from five miles away, if you were so inclined.

The creaking of floorboards marked Eleanor’s return and Sam thanked her as he took the small bottle of smelling salts from her and unstoppered it. Holding the potent contents under Y/N’s nose, he hoped she would wake up.

“CCCCuuummmppph!” Coughed Y/N, her eyes flickering open. Sam quickly put the stopper back in the bottle and leaned over Y/N.

“Sam? What are you doing here?” Y/N asked.

“I could say the same thing, but I won’t,” Sam replied, finding it difficult to keep the sound of anger from his voice.

Sam was surprised by how quickly Y/N regained her composure and sat up on the couch, holding the side of her head as if in pain. He could tell from the look on her face that he’d pissed her off.

“I was working a case! Everything was fine,” Y/N pulled a piece of straw from her hair, “until I passed out.”

Eleanor ambled up to the side of the couch and put an empty glass bottle on a nearby coffee table.

“Maybe,” said Eleanor, “you should tell us what was in here?”

Sam watched Y/N look between him and Eleanor, her expression a mixture of anger and fear.

Getting up from the couch, Y/N stepped away from Sam and Eleanor, pulling straw from her hair with one hand while using the other to knead her forehead. Sam didn’t like the thought that Y/N was in pain.

“A draught to open one’s mind to the departed,” Y/N said plainly, her voice level.

“What on earth!” Exclaimed Eleanor. Sam shared Eleanor’s misgivings. Sam thought that it didn’t sound like a good thing to be taking.

There was silence until Sam finally asked, “What was in it?”

Y/N looked at Sam, her lips pursed, refusing to answer. Sam stood up and walked towards Y/N.

“What was in the potion?” Sam asked again, his voice angrier.

“The main components were grave dust and… mescaline,” Y/N finally replied.

“You did drugs?” Sam said, incredulity sinking into his voice.

“Sam, I know what happened to the little girl, I know what she did!” Y/N yelled. “And it was fine, I was fine. I would have woken up eventually!”

“But-” Before Sam could finish, Y/N pushed past him and ran upstairs. Sam was about to follow, when she came running down the stairs, her chest under her right arm and rucksack on her back. Sam felt helpless as he watched Y/N grab her motorcycle helmet from the kitchen and storm out of the front door.

“Well, aren’t you going to go after her?” Eleanor said, exasperated, but with a note of concern in her voice.

“Shit,” Sam muttered before running out of the house, after Y/N.


	5. Lockup

You’d ridden fast and hard down into town. It reminded you of home a little. Now pulling up a block away from the Sheriff's Office, in an alley off the street, you quickly open up the chest on your bike and mix up a little something as well as dragging out a security measure from the chest. You’ve got powders in bags and vials popping out of your khaki’s pockets.

Checking that the bike is stowed as you want it, you pick up one pouch of powder and blow it over the bike and your stuff. It wouldn’t be going anywhere. You begin marching off down town, in the direction of the Sheriff’s Office. Perhaps you don’t walk as quickly as you could, a part of yourself tugging against the rest, guilt ridden with how you talked to Sam, but you keep on marching.

What you saw in the night is still dragging at your waking thoughts. You need to be sure of the monstrosities.

You don’t notice the stares from the townspeople already out and about as you power your way down the street, but you take a moment to calm your breathing before opening the door to the Sheriff's Office. It’s just after nine in the morning and you have an iron chest that you need to look at.

Just as you begin to open the door, your right arm is grabbed and you’re spun around on the spot. You look up into the face of Sam.

“Come with me,” Sam whispers. You allow yourself to be led away from the front door and back part way down the street.

“What the hell, Y/N, do you actually have a plan?” Sam almost yells at you.

Staring at Sam straight into his eyes, you reply, “I did, as a matter of fact. See, I don’t have to dress up like an FBI agent or whatever to get what I want. I just need a few bags of tricks and the right questions - then I get the answers I need.”

“Still -”

“Look, Sam,” you say, your heart breaking ever so slightly as you talk, “I’m not some doll. I can look after myself -”

“But -”

“What? The thing that happened when I worked with Crowley? The dragons? I was the one who found my grandfather - did you know that? And his murderer, the werewolf, was still in the room with him when I discovered them, and I dealt with it as best I could then.

“But now? Now, I can look after myself. Now I’m stronger. I know more. And yes, part of that is down to you and Dean,” you see Sam blanch at the mention of Dean’s name, “But you more than anyone should know that you can’t protect me against everything in this world or any other.

“And I am not going to sit in the Bunker, all the time, just pouring over books, doing nothing of any real substance or worth. Life with you is risky, sure, I get that now, but you have no idea what I am really capable of.”

You fall silent. Your chest heaving as adrenaline courses through your body, fight or flight trying to kick you into action. Looking into Sam’s face, you’re not sure quite what you see there, until he starts talking.

“Y/N, I’m sorry… I didn’t… I didn’t realise that I was making you feel this way. Of course you’re not a doll… But you need to understand,” tears began to form in Sam’s eyes, “when I held you in my arms, on the way to the hospital after that dragon mauled you…

“The idea of you dying - I’d only just found you. And then when you disappeared the first time, only to walk straight into danger - again, I thought there might be no coming back.” Tears are flowing down Sam’s cheeks.

“Sam -”

“I want this, us, to work. So let’s stop fighting. I get it: you’re not some doll. Please, Y/N.”

You lean in towards Sam and stand on tip toes to kiss his tears away, the salt coating your lips. Sam’s arms come down around you and he pulls you close, hugging you tight.

As you breathe in Sam, you finally say, “I want this to work too.”

*

The play was simple. You’d “dazzle” the Sheriff and any deputies enough so that they would let you see the chest. Sam would stay at your side and assist, but you would be taking the lead.

“Hi,” you say as you come to a stop in front of the deputy on duty before holding out your right hand and blowing a fine, pink dust in his face. The deputy breathes the powder in, any dawning of surprise immediately melting from his face.

The deputy looks at you blankly, waiting for your prompt. “So, how many of you work out of this office?” You ask the deputy.

“Just myself, the Sheriff and one other deputy for the whole county,” the deputy replies, his voice a monotone.

“Are they here this morning?”

“No, it’s just me. They’ve got business elsewhere this morning.”

You signal Sam to come in. “Well,” you look at the deputy’s badge, “Deputy Roth, could you take myself and my friend to see the chest your people dug up at the Hammersmith farm a few weeks back?”

“Of course,” Deputy Roth obligingly replies, coming out from behind the desk.

“And could you also wipe the office’s security tapes and stop them recording while we’re here?” Sam asks. The deputy looks to you for confirmation and you nod yes.

“Of course,” replies the deputy.

*

Once you’re in the evidence lockup, you get Sam to open the iron chest. Together, you peer inside and see what was left inside it. Looking at the fine gray dust within and the bits of small, broken skull, you know that you’re gazing upon the remains of the little ghost girl.

“Here are the remains of Florence Majors,” you state simply. “She killed three farm hands before a fourth managed to stop her reign of terror.”

“How old was she?” Asks Sam.

“Ten… She’d attack them near bonfires where they’d burn off the remains of the crop - pushing the bodies into the flames. Her father helped the surviving farmhand escape, before burning and burying the remains of his daughter.”

“You saw this?”

“M-hmmm. But they missed something. I saw Florence playing with a doll, a doll with hair oh so similar to her own.”

Sam closes the chest and wipes his prints off of the iron casing. “Any lead on where the doll is?”

“Somewhere on the farm… I think we need to use Florence to help us find it. Just don’t light any fires.”


	6. Needle in a haystack

It was still daylight, which Sam agreed was something to be thankful for, but they had over a hundred acres of farmland to search. Eleanor was back at the house, having a look under floorboards there, cell phone at the ready. Sam was in sight of Y/N, as they picked their way through the hilly field, looking for landmarks that Y/N had seen during her “ghost walk” as he was now calling it.

There was a copse somewhere that Florence had favoured, but Sam couldn’t see it as they began walking down hill. And then Y/N shouted something from ahead of him as she began jogging over the rough, grassy ground.

Sam jogged over to where Y/N had stopped. The trees were no longer there, but no one had ever gotten round to pulling up the stumps either. Y/N was rooting around in a hole within one of them.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

Y/N got up, her hands empty. “Nope. Maybe we should try the barn again?”

Walking back up the field, Sam allowed Y/N to get ahead slightly, so that he could enjoy the view.

*

The barn was just as they had left it that morning, only now it was slightly warmer, with streaks of sunlight pushing their way in. Before Sam could say otherwise, Y/N began nimbly climbing up some old crates and straw bales, seemingly with no care for her personal safety.

And then she was gone, up in the shadows of the rafters and the barn loft. Sam listened to the sound of creaking wood, as Y/N finally climbed onto something more solid. Hopeful that nothing was going to go wrong for at least a moment, Sam began rooting through the aging and tattered remains of a farm that was no longer a farm.

Sam picked his way through the barn, but found nothing doll like. Just dust, cobwebs and ancient straw and a couple of scythes that were almost as tall as he was. He was about to call Y/N down, when she called to him.

“Sam, there’s something stuck between the - look can you come stand underneath?”

Sam strode over to the part of the barn where Y/N appeared to be calling down from. “Okay, I’m here.”

“Ready in three-two-one…”

Sam held his hands out and blinked as an aged porcelain doll fell into his hands. Its curls were very lifelike. “Got it,” Sam called out.

He listened to Y/N scrambling back down to him and then the air went cold and his breath began to fog in front of him. Florence was stood several feet away, a look of innocence upon the ghost’s face.

“Do you want to play?” The ghost asked.

Y/N appeared at Sam’s elbow. “We can’t burn this in here, it could catch the whole place on fire,” Y/N whispered to Sam.

“What do you suggest,” Sam replied from the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, how about we play hide and seek?” Y/N asked the ghost of Florence.

The ghost studied Sam and Y/N with interest, before nodding in agreement.

“Alright, but I’m hiding with Lady Muffet,” Y/N told the ghost who nodded in agreement again. “Sam will count.”

Sam passed Y/N the doll. “What are you doing?”

“”I’ve got supplies on my bike,” Y/N whispered back. “Now, Sam, you count to thirty and we’ll go and hide,” Y/N said so that the ghost would hear.

Sam obligingly turned his back and covered his eyes, then began to count. “One… two… three.. four…”

He heard Y/N rush out of the barn and the air became a little less colder. He’d almost reached thirty when he heard Y/N scream in pain.

Running out of the barn, Sam gasped as he saw Y/N on the ground, trying to put out the flames that were working their way along the arms of her shirt. The doll was nearby and the ghost of Florence just stood there, watching, a cruel smile on her face.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Y/N screamed again before passing out from the pain.

Suddenly, Eleanor was on the porch, shotgun in hand, but couldn’t get a clear shot. Instead, Sam watched as she threw a glass bottle down at the feet of the ghost. The bottle smashed and the figure of Florence flickered out.

Sam rushed over to Y/N and helped her put out the flames while Eleanor jogged, as best she could, over to the doll and began torching it. The ghost of Florence appeared in front of the three of them, and let out a blood curdling wail before dissipating into permanent nothingness.

Y/N was in a lot of pain and Sam scooped her up in arms and followed Eleanor back into the house, instinct taking over.

“I’ll call 9-11,” Eleanor said reaching for her cell. Sam had just laid Y/N on the couch.

“Wait,” Sam said, snapping out of the usual “routine”, if you could call it that. His eyes fell upon the stone nestled in Y/N’s clothes.

“Are you crazy? She’s really badly hurt!” Eleanor gave Sam a look of confusion and panic.

“Just wait,” Sam said turning back to Y/N. The damage was already being undone. The shirt would never be the same again, but the burns were quickly reverting back to healthy flesh.

“Sam, what is she?” Eleanor asked, now stood beside the pair of them. The tone in her voice was a familiar one to hunters, it was the unsure if they need to kill something tone.

“An alchemist,” Sam replied, looking at the Philosopher's Stone resting atop of Y/N, “a really, really good alchemist.”


	7. Tailgating

The ride back to the Bunker was uneventful, though you stopped for fuel a few times along the way. Sam had followed you while you rode the Harley. Now you were parking up in the garage.

Getting down from the Harley and pulling your helmet off, you notice Sam stepping out of his car. You try hard not to eye him up like a piece of meat, but it’s difficult as he pushes his hair out of his eyes, walks round to the trunk, pops it open and bends over to get some of his things out.

You’re behind Sam without a word, without a sound, your arms reaching around and pulling him tightly against you. His scent fills your nostrils and a low murmur escapes your throat. Suddenly, Sam spins around and mashes his lips down on yours, desperate for contact. Tease each other’s lips and then open your mouths, your tongues warring with each other.

Groaning into Sam’s mouth, your hips grind into each other and then you pull yourself onto him, hooking your arms around Sam’s neck and your legs around his waist. Sam holds on to you with one arm, while gently closing the trunk and then carrying you out of the garage.

Sam manages to get you both to his room. He turns on the the light and gently lays you down on his bed before taking his top off and leaning over you. He lands kisses all over your face before easing you out of your shirt and then trailing his lips down your chest and stomach. Your stomach flips with anticipation and you push yourself up on the backs of your arms as Sam comes back to your face. You nuzzle into his hair and then rub your face against his, enjoying the slight roughness of his five o’clock shadow.

Kneeling, Sam helps you out of your khakis and kisses from your right foot, down the inside of your right leg, just stopping before the heat emanating from your crotch. Gently, Sam pulls your panties down and then dives in, his tongue quickly finding your clit.

“MnnnnnhhhhhhMMMMMMHHHH,” you groan as Sam teases you with his tongue. Then before you can come, Sam pulls away and finishes stripping off his own clothes. You look down at his chiseled body, a light sweat glistening on his skin. His breathing is fast. Looking down his body you see his hardon and you whimper.

“Do you want me?” Sam asks.

“Yes!” You gasp, before Sam plunges towards you and begins kissing you again while he gently eases himself inside of you, his cock a welcome addition to the inferno building inside of you.

Sam starts gentle at first, shifting in and out, the rhythm sweet and easy. You kiss him, seeing out his tongue and trapping it in your mouth. Sam’s left hand wanders down between the two of you, until he finds your clit again, already slick with your wetness. He teases it between his fingers as he keeps his thrusts calm and measured.

It feels so good that you can’t help it when, after several minutes of this delicate attention, your walls pulse around Sam’s dick, your orgasm powering through you. Sam’s eyes close slightly at your pleasure, you feel him smiling into your kisses and he begins to pick up his pace.

Pulling away from your kisses, Sam leans in by your left ear and whispers, “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Sam,” you whisper back. Sam starts kissing you again, desperate to have his tongue in your mouth.

Sam’s thrusting speeds up more and he begins to change the angle, moving his hand away from your clit. His cock teases you open even more and you just can’t get over how good it feels as its base rubs against your clit.

“Mmmmmmhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmuuuuhh!” You cry into Sam’s mouth as he helps you to reach orgasm again.

Pulling away from you, Sam motions for you to go on top. You switch positions, sliding under and over each other. Sam’s cock is slick with your juices and you find it easy to straddle him and pull yourself down on Sam.

You lean backwards, holding on to your calves as you pull yourself up and down on Sam’s cock, going at the pace that feels best to you. Your eyes are slits as you move, but you see Sam looking at you, drinking in the sight of you bouncing on him, your breasts shifting with each movement.

For a moment you close your eyes in pleasure and then you open them again as Sam carefully drags his nails over the skin of your thighs. The contrast in sensations feels so, so good and you shift forward so that you can easily touch yourself as you bounce, your left fingers teasing your clitourous. Your slick as you pump Sam’s cock and you can feel yourself building, building up until -

“Nnnnngghhhhhhhhhhhhh,” you cry, your core flowing with relief, your walls flexing around Sam and finally driving him over the edge.

“MMMMMMmmmmuuuuuuuuuuuuumpfnnnnh!” Sam cries as he spills himself into you. You continue to bounce on Sam, slowly easing out each other’s orgasms.

Satisfied, you slide off of Sam’s disappearing hardon and fall into his waiting arms. Sam nuzzles your hair and you can hear him breathing you in.

“Y/N?” Sam asks into the side of your neck, “Do you want pancakes?”

“Yes,” you reply, your stomach suddenly growling from all of the exertion of that day.

*

You’re dressed in nothing but one of Sam’s baggy shirts, buttoned up part way, your necklace, and a pair of slippers as Sam, dressed only in an old t-shirt and some boxers, expertly cooks pancakes for the two of you in the kitchen. There’s coffee, butter and maple syrup waiting on the table behind you and everything smells so, so good.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Sam asks as he adds another pancake to the stack before pouring more batter into the pan.

You think hard for a moment. “I dunno. I kinda like turquoise.”

“Hmmmm,” Sam replies mysteriously.

Finally, he adds the final pancake to the stack and carries the plate over to the table so that the bounty may be divided equally between you.

‘Maybe,’ you think to yourself as you begin to pour syrup over your pancakes, ‘things can work out. Maybe.’


End file.
